Visitation
by running with scissors
Summary: Set about 15 years after "Lord of the Flies." It's near Christmas when Simon's spirit appears with a rather unusual gift for Jack...*Part IV*
1. Part I

**_Author's Note and Disclaimer:_ I know I should be working on "Two Scars" right now, but this story simply refused to go away. I just HAD to write it. I hope you enjoy. ^_^ I don't own LotF, I'm just borrowing its characters. This story doesn't follow the story line of "A Christmas Carol" exactly, but since there are some similarities and that book is what inspired me to write this, I figured I'd better make sure everybody knew I didn't own that either...although I think you already did. **

Simon was dead. Certainly, unarguably dead. Dead as a doorknob, although no doorknob to date has ever been alive to begin with. He'd been dead, actually, for several years - about a decade and a half.  
Still, the fact that he was dead had not prevented Simon from strolling down Main Street that night, through the cold and wind and what seemed to be the beginning of a snowstorm.   
You never could tell, though. The weatherman always prophesied snow around Chistmastime. The weatherman was usually wrong. Or so it had been during Simon's short life, and he knew somehow that it hadn't changed.   
The little boy paused, his coarse hair hanging slightly in his eyes. Here it was, right across the street, the building he'd been looking for. And there was the person he'd been looking for, staring out the window, directly at him. Smiling, Simon waved to the open-mouthed man gawking at him.  
  
~*~

"I don't care if - " Jack Merridew stopped mid-sentence as he looked out his office window, letting the phone receiver plummet to the floor. That child - standing across the street - looked just like Simon. Simon who was once in his choir; Simon from the...island...  
But he couldn't be. Simon was dead! Now the kid was waving at him. _To_ him. _Don't be ridiculous,_ Jack chided himself, _he's not waving at you. The stupid kid is just waving. _"Hello?" the person on the other end of the phone was saying. Jack bent over to pick up the receiver, and when he looked up again, Simon was gone. No, not Simon, the little kid that resembled Simon.   
"Er - sorry - about that, " Jack stammered, but then managed to regain a forceful voice tone, "but like I said before, I don't give a damn if it's almost Chirstmas Eve! You - "  
Jack paused. There was that kid - there was _Simon_ - sitting at Jack's desk, grinning as he rummaged aimlessly through the top right desk drawer. 

~*~

Jack was hallucinating. He had to be. That was the only logical explanation there was. As he fumbled with his house keys, he could see that lousy little kid again, sitting in the tree in Jack's front yard, waving merrily, like he was trying to get Jack's attention. Well, he sure had it. Jack flung open the door and went inside, trying to forget it. Today had been stressful enough will all the red and green and lights and mistletoe and the nonsense about 'holiday cheer' to have to deal with an irritating little spirit. 

~*~

_It's your imagination,_ Jack told himself over and over again as he climbed into bed, _your goddamned imagination!_ By why now, of all times, was he imagining Simon's presence? Could the holidays have been making him feel guilty about...that? But why now? Why now?   
He rolled onto his stomach and tried to close his eyes. A quiet voice, one that he hadn't heard in the longest time but was still vaguely familiar, said shyly, "Hiya, Jack - er, wait, I guess now I should call you 'Mr. Merridew'."  
Jack rolled over sat bolt upright in bed. _"What the fuck!"_ he shouted, almost choking on the words. Sitting on the foot of his bed was the little coarse-haired boy. "How did you - ? Who are you - ? What the heck are you doing in my house?" Somehow, though, the angry demands weren't necessary. Jack already knew who this was. And how Simon got here. And what Simon was doing in his house. His only real question was _why_. Why now? Why not later? Why not before? Why ever, for that matter?  
"Because now was just the right time," Simon explained mildly, answering the question he knew Jack wanted answered.  
"Huh?" Jack shook himself.  
"Because now was just the right time 's all," Simon repeated, extending his hand. "Now, come with me. I wanna show you something."  
Jack's brow furrowed. "Show me - ? What? Where? And just how in the hell are you planning on getting me there?" He was suddenly on edge. He'd read _A Chistmas Carol_ and seen half a dozen movies with nearly the same story line. He could guess where this was going.  
Simon just smiled, kind of knowingly; he'd been expecting a similar response from Jack. The little boy stood and waited for the young man to rise also.   
He didn't. Jack remained in bed, eyeing Simon warily. It was an amusing sight, really, and Simon had to fight back a smile. Mean old Jack, who'd bossed him mercilessly in the choir and had...abused...him on the island was now almost petrified of him. As if that wasn't enough, Jack was a grownup.   
"Come on," Simon said gently.   
"Why?" Jack asked nervously, his eyes narrowing. "Why is now the 'right time'?"  
"It's almost Christmas," Simon said. "The season of giving. And I have a gift I'd like to give to you."  
"A...gift?"  
Simon nodded, unable to keep from smiling. This was too funny. It really was. "But you have to come with me."  
"No."  
The boy's smile widened. "No?" he asked, his voice trembling with the laughter that threatened to overtake him.   
"You heard me. No." Jack crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.  
This was too much for Simon. He doubled over, chortling.   
Jack didn't liked being mocked. He never had. He slowly climbed out of bed. "Fine. I'll go," he consented bitterly.  
Simon struggled to regain his composure.  
  
**~So, whadda you think? Lemme know if I should continue!**


	2. Part II

**_Author's Note and Disclaimer: _****See first chapter.**

Simon and Jack, the latter in his pajamas, were flying - well, not really flying, more like _floating _- above the city streets. Jack's blue eyes were wide with an almost hysterical terror, though he fervently denied being afraid when Simon inquired as to where the height bothering him and would he like to go just a little lower? 

Simon's eyes seemed to be scanning the city for something in particular. "Aha!" he shouted suddenly, clapping his hands and grinning. 

Jack fidgeted. "What 'aha'?" he demanded, both fearful and suddenly angry. He concentrated on his anger in order to give his voice the edgy contempt he wanted when repeated, "_What _'aha'?"

Simon's smile slowly turned sympathetic. "Let's go a little lower," he offered.

"Fine with me," Jack said, but then, conscious of his dignity despite the situation, attempted to retain some of it by adding quickly (in the most adult voice he could muster, of course), "Not that I'm scared of heights or anything."

Simon nodded. "I agree," he yawned, "I don't think it's the heights that are scaring you."  

"Nothing is scaring me!"

Simon offered no reply; the boy's spirit just gripped Jack's sleeve and kind of guided, kind of dragged him downward to one building in particular. Jack hadn't seen that boarding school in the longest time…

"What…what the hell're we doing here?" he coughed.

"Look in the window," Simon whispered. 

With a grudging frown, Jack contemptuously obliged. Then he gasped. "That's…me."

Simon was somewhat amused. "Who else would it be?"

He gazed at the image of his eight-year-old self. "That's the year I…" he trailed off and averted his eyes. Blushing, he tried again. "That's the year I joined choir."

Simon nodded. "Yes," he said quietly, "but that's not what you're here to see, J - Mr. Merridew." Somehow, Jack remained in Simon's mind unchangeably Jack, but the ghost's own sense of propriety was forcing him to say "Mr. Merridew."

Jack raised his eyes again. His child self was laying on the bed, half-asleep, when there was a knock at the door. "What?" eight-year-old Jack called, obviously expecting a teacher.

No answer. Just louder knocking. Jack called again, "What?" 

A muffled voice yelled something from outside. Jack sighed exasperatedly and got up, flinging the door open. _"What?" _he demanded, the way an annoyed child would.

A small group was standing huddled outside the doorway. The lacked a leader, so at first none of them spoke. Then they all did.

"You looked lonely in the common room…"

"We wondered if maybe you didn't have any friends?"

"Would you like to come play with us?"

"Are you staying for Christmas too?"

Jack's child self looked both insulted (of _course_ he had friends; everyone did!) and touched (a group of total strangers appeared offering friendship). Finally, he said, while managing a smile, "Um, alright, fine. I'll come with you." 

"Remember that?" Simon asked with a rather sly smile, jerking Jack out of his recollections. 

"Ye-es," Jack answered slowly. Then, becoming himself once again, he demanded, "Anything else you'd like to show me?"

Simon grinned. "Yup." The grin quickly faded, though, and Jack assumed that wasn't a good sign.

            An assumption that proved correct. In the blink of an eye, Jack and Simon were floating above an island. Not just any island, either - _the _island. Jack's stomach did several little flip-flops.

            "What the hell does this have to do with - ?" Jack started angrily, but Simon hushed him with a glance.

            "Christmas past," Simon answered.

            "This is - ?" Jack stopped again, supposing that made sense. It was late November when that plane crashed. They'd gotten back home in the end of January. So of course, Christmas had to have occurred while they were on the island. 

            Below him, there was the shock of fair hair that was Ralph - the sack of fat that was Piggy - the noisy little creatures that were the littluns - a form that could only have been Simon's living self - the identically painted faces of his hunters…

            Jack turned away. He wouldn't look. He _couldn't _look. He tried not to hear what they were saying.

            He expected Simon to force him to turn around and face what was happening, but the little spirit proved far more benevolent. "All right, Mr. Merridew," he said, "let's go back to the future. I've got some things to show you there."

            **~Still like it? Should I still continue?**


	3. Part III

**_Author's Note and Disclaimer: _****Please see first chapter.**

"What do you wanna show me now?" Jack asked nervously, not sure if he wanted to see it. Actually, he was sure; sure he didn't want and didn't need to have anything to do with it. 

"Christmas Present," Simon replied. The pun occurred to Jack, but somehow it wasn't terribly amusing. Simon gestured to the streets and houses below and sky above them. "Look. It's snowing."

Confused as to whether he should be annoyed or relieved, Jack arched an eyebrow. "You wanted to show me _snow_?"

Simon grinned and shook his head. "No. But I thought it was worth pointing out."

Jack sighed. "You're as batty as ever." For some reason, he wished he could swallow those words up again the minute they were in the air. He tried to shove that feeling aside. "Well, what _did _you wanna show me?"

For a long time, Simon didn't answer. Then he said, "I bet you could guess."

Jack could guess, but he wasn't going to for fear of being right. "Why don't you just tell me?"

Simon smiled. "Why don't you just guess?"

This was absurd. Jack felt like a kindergartner. "Because I don't want to, that's why. Now where the hell are you taking me?" 

Simon laughed. "You _sure _you don't want to guess?"

"Yes! I'm positive I don't want to guess. Where are we going?"

"To visit Ralph."

Jack felt sick. He should've just guessed; he would have been right. "Oh, no," he shook his head, "please, don't make me – "

Too late. "Hello?" Ralph's voice was saying into a telephone receiver.

"What's going on?"

"Why're you whispering, Mr. Merridew? He can't hear us." Simon tried not to laugh. "And you can come out from behind the sofa – he can't see us, either."

Muttering something, Jack crawled from behind the couch. 

Ralph said, "The rent?"

"The rent?" echoed Jack. The rent? What about the rent?

"_Listen_," urged Simon. 

"Yes," Ralph was saying, nodding solemnly into the phone, "yes, I understand…" He paused, frowned. Then, "I don't get paid until – " apparently the person on the other end of the line interrupted him. "Listen, I – " again he was interrupted. Then, "Look, buddy, I know I haven't been paying my rent, but – well, I have to work two jobs just to…yes, yes, I understand." He closed his eyes as he hung up the phone.

"He's got a college education, too," Simon said, sighing, "kind of sad, isn't it?"

Jack shrugged, trying desperately to retain a nonchalant, if slightly disgruntled, appearance. "Yeah, sure, sad. Whatever you say, Casper," he grumbled acidly.

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Casper?"

Jack's fingernails became suddenly interesting. "Not that you're – I didn't mean – what I'm trying to say is – "

"There's really no need to be afraid of me," Simon said quietly.

Jack realized they were no longer in Ralph's apartment, but rather, walking down a snow-covered country street. Just how had that happened? Of course, Simon was dead, so Jack figured he could probably do whatever he wanted…kind of spooky, really. Still, Jack Merridew was not afraid of ghosts. "I am not," he snarled, glaring dangerously at the spirit, "afraid of you." 

Simon just grinned.

Jack flushed. He really didn't like being teased. "Quit it!"

"Quit what?" 

"Messing with my head," Jack mumbled, "just quit it."

Simon laughed. "Right now?"

"Right – right now! This _instant_!" 

Simon laughed again, but said nothing. It occurred to Jack that he might be arguing with a hallucination. Or a dream. Somehow, though, that just didn't seem possible…

"Take me back home now!" 

Simon shook his head. "I've still got something else to show you, Mr. Merridew," he said softly, "I don't like scaring you, but there are some things you have to see." He smiled weakly and continued, "It's part of that gift I mentioned earlier."

Jack frowned. If this was a hallucination, it was a hallucination with a mind of his own. 

"I'm _not _afraid of you, or anything you've got to show me," Jack retorted, a little too quickly. 

            **~I'll try and get the next parts up soon!**


	4. Part IV

**_Author's Note and Disclaimer:_ Please see first chapter.**  
  
Suddenly Jack and Simon were standing in the middle of the cemetery. There was no snow, but it was cold and cloudy and the graves and the ground were covered in frost and ice. Directly in front of them was a gravestone. Jack Merridew's gravestone.  
  
The sight of it made Jack ill, but it came as no surprise, no shock. He'd been expecting this. He'd have been an idiot not to see it coming. Of course, seeing it coming did not make his knees any less weak. "My grave."  
  
Simon spoke. "Look closer at it, Mr. Merridew."  
  
"Why?" Jack demanded, but he obliged, peering closer to the headstone - his headstone - and was suddenly indignant. "Look what some little punk wrote!"  
  
In messy, barely legible handwriting, somebody had scrawled FUCK YOU. Jack shook his head, appalled. Who would be so crass as to write fuck you on someone else's grave? Turning to Simon, Jack asked, "Just who would go and do that?"  
  
Simon replied quietly, "Some people might ask just who would paint his face an' dance like an animal. Some people might ask just who would - "  
  
"I was just a kid!" Jack interrupted, sensing where that was going.  
  
Simon squinted at the headstone. "That was probably just a kid, too," the little ghost pointed out. "Or - somebody who knew you."  
  
Jack's fingernails became suddenly interesting. "All right, all right, I get it." He shook his head. "But all the same."  
  
Simon's face twitched, threatening to smile. "Why don't you keep watching?"  
  
Jack frowned, but said nothing. He watched. For a few minutes, the wind blew and nothing happened. Then a small figure picked its way across the cemetery. It was a child, carrying a small bouquet of flowers in his arms. At first, it seemed he would pass Jack's grave, but then he noticed the obscene language that decorated it. He spit on the grave (Jack started up, but Simon hushed him) then rubbed it with his sleeve. The FUCK YOU, although it refused to disappear entirely, became a barely noticeable smudge. Then the child was on his way.  
  
"He didn't have to do that," Jack said quietly.  
  
"But he did," Simon pointed out.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Simon had a bit of a time answering that at first. "Because - because people aren't all bad." He smiled. "Nobody is all bad." He paused but suddenly was struck by the desire to elaborate, and did so with the first metaphor that came to him. "The Beast is only us. It's in all of us. But it is not us. Do you. understand?"  
  
"A little," Jack answered slowly. "I still think you're batty. But - I guess I can kind of see how you can be batty and make a lot of sense." When he looked around, they were again on the snowy country road. How did that happen?  
  
Simon's spirit frowned, then grinned. "I - I'll take what I can get," he laughed. Then, more seriously, he said, "Mr. Merridew."  
  
"What? What else can you have to show me?" Jack ran through everything they'd done. Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas Yet to Come. what else was there?  
  
"Do you 'member when I first came to your house an' I said I had a gift for you?"  
  
"Yes," Jack said, "but I don't remember ever getting it."  
  
"How do you feel right now, Mr. Merridew?"  
  
"Pretty good, I guess.you know, you can call me 'Jack'."  
  
"All right, Mr. Merri - Jack. How d'you really feel right now?"  
  
"I all ready told you, pretty good," Jack said, shifting.  
  
"Whaddya feel like doing?" Simon asked, trying to get to the point. But Jack didn't need to answer. They both knew.  
  
Simon said, "Merry Christmas, Jack."  
  
**~You like? I'll try to get the last part up as soon as I can.**


End file.
